


Silk & Velvet

by aralias



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: (Although he shaves it off), Baz tops, Baz's beard, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Lingerie, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Canon, Sort Of, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29427366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: Valentine's Day falls on a Thursday and Simon is old, now. They both are. Almost thirty. He knows he should have stuck with the boring gift Baz asked for, but he didn't and now— Well.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 28
Kudos: 100





	Silk & Velvet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Brought to Heel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21599524) by [pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker). 



> This is the second Porn Zine memorial fic, commemorating a zine that never was <3 
> 
> [The first one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28801065) was inspired by a lot of my fics. This is inspired by two of Pip's because he's one of the few people who wrote the tropes he wanted! UNTIL NOW.  
> \- [Brought to Heel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21599524) (obviously)  
> \- [new memories](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23164228)
> 
> Also, a fic by someone else that just came out today, but that I betaed:  
> \- [bloom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29155386) by xivz
> 
> Reading this fic (which is great) definitely inspired me to put Baz in lingerie. I already wanted him to top in mine, but xivz's very dominant Baz is definitely here too. 
> 
> All these fics are brilliant. Please read them! 
> 
> \--
> 
> Thank you to the amazing and wonderful [OtherWorldsIveLivedIn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn) for betaing. Their sweetheart fic is also fantastic and hot and I also (partly) betaed it - read it: [Good to You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29435193/chapters/72307266)

## Silk & Velvet

**SIMON**

I’m not sure why I’m so nervous.

Well, no. That’s a lie. I _do_ know, but my therapist told me that if Baz and I have a healthy relationship based on trust – which we do, now – then there’s no need to be nervous. (Which wasn’t as helpful as I think she hoped it would be, since now I feel nervous _and_ stupid for feeling nervous.)

Of course, she also told me that, if I _was_ worried, I should just ask Baz first before I did anything rash. But that goes against my whole personality, so of course I haven’t done that.

What I _have_ done is buy several hundred quid’s worth of sexy underwear for my boyfriend. (Leprechaun gold. I found another stash.) It’s on the table between us in a Selfridge’s bag and Baz is moments away from opening it.

I’m a wreck, honestly.

“I got a call from the restaurant last night,” he tells me between sips of coffee. “They’ve confirmed our reservation, but now I’m not sure I can be bothered. We could just get takeaway and watch television.”

“Yeah. Don’t mind,” I say – because I don’t. But also, because I’m having trouble concentrating on the conversation.

Baz is wearing a nice suit and he’s grown his beard back, which always makes me especially hot for him. It’d be distracting on a normal day and today isn’t a normal day. 

It’s Valentine’s Day. It falls on a Thursday this year, so both Baz and I have to go to work. Separately, to our separate jobs. But he’s a soppy, romantic sort, so it’s important to him that we have breakfast together in our kitchen – instead of just eating on the train, like I normally do – and exchange gifts.

I’ve already opened mine. A set of kitchen knives. (Which sounds boring, but it’s what I wanted and anyway, I’m almost thirty and I spent most of my childhood trying to save the world. Frankly, boring is a fucking relief.) (Most of the time, anyway.)

 _Baz_ wanted a new iPad case.

I did get him one. But it’s not what’s in the bag. I chew the edge of my lip nervously as he continues to tell me about how stupidly busy his day is going to be and how even though he loves getting dressed up and going out with me, he’s not sure he’ll be up to it.

“That’s fine,” I say. “Really, I don’t mind.”

Baz smiles. “I know. It’s me – I wanted to do something special. But it’s just so—”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Thursday.”

“Right.”

By now, I’ve decided my gift is a terrible idea. Baz is tired. He doesn’t even want to go and _eat._ I shouldn’t be pressuring him into – slightly – kinky sex. I should just give him his fucking iPad case that he asked for.

I reach for the bag just as Baz finishes his coffee. Which means I basically snatch it out of his hands.

“Wasn’t that for me?” Baz asks, amused.

“No,” I say. Although then I start worrying that if Baz finds lingerie in our house and I _haven’t_ given it to him, then he’ll either think I’m having an affair or that I like to wear women’s underwear when he’s out, and change my answer to: “Well, yes.”

Baz arches an eyebrow – which, somehow, I still find staggeringly erotic after a decade of being with him. It doesn’t help me concentrate.

“Intriguing. Which one is it? For me, or not for me?”

“Um.” I run my fingers over the back of my hair. Baz’s eyes narrow as I do it. (He knows that’s a nervous tick.) Worse, my tail escapes from where I’ve been sitting on it and almost knocks over the teapot. (Thank magic he already spelled my wings away for the day, although it’s too late. I’ve already given myself away.)

“Simon?”

Fuck, I just have to go for it. It’s too late.

I slide the bag back across the kitchen table towards him.

“Honestly, it’s mostly for me. But you might like it too. And, um – yeah. Open it.”

Both of Baz’s eyebrows are up now. But somehow, they get even higher when he actually dips his hand into the bag and comes back with a fistful of pale blue silk. He puts it back quickly, even though no one else lives here and I already know what’s in there. My face feels like it’s on fire, it’s so red. Even Baz looks a bit pink.

“I see,” he says.

“I got you the iPad thing as well,” I say. “I just thought you’d look good.”

“In women’s underwear?”

Fuck, this is what I was worried about. Although the answer is obviously _yes._ That’s exactly what I thought. And he would.

“It’s not like I think you’re a woman,” I say defensively. “Or that I wish I was with one. I want to be with you – and I like that you’re a bloke.”

Baz laughs. (A good sign, I think.) “I know, Simon. Every time I grow the beard back in, you practically beg me to take you over the nearest surface.”

That’s true, although it’s a bit embarrassing that he’s noticed.

“Right,” I say. “Well—”

“Crowley,” Baz says. “Sorry, love. I’ve just seen the time. I have to go.”

He stands abruptly, kissing me on the forehead as I check my watch. (He’s right – it’s almost nine. We should both have left a few minutes ago.)

“I guess we can discuss it after we get home.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Baz says.

“Right.”

It’s gutting but I know I should have expected it. (I’m already imagining telling my therapist: _Well, it could’ve gone better – but at least he didn’t throw me out._ ) I down the last of my own cold tea while Baz yanks the door open, harder than he needs to, probably. 

“Have a nice day,” I shout after him – lamely.

“Ha,” Baz shouts back. I hear him shut the door, and then open it again. In a few moments he’s back in the kitchen where I’m still cleaning up. (I’m late too, but I know Baz will be in an even worse mood if he gets home and finds all our stuff still out.)

“Did you forget something?” I ask him.

He nods. “Yes. What will you be wearing?”

“What?”

“While I’m …” Baz’s eyes dart back towards the bright yellow bag on the table. “You know. Tonight.”

“Oh, right.”

I’m not sure I can answer that question right now. Actually, I’m not sure I can think about anything right now because my brain is still trying to process the fact that Baz isn’t as angry as I thought. And, if he isn’t angry, then things will happen this evening. Tonight. Between us. _Merlin._

My jeans are now uncomfortably tight.

“Come _on_ , Simon. I’m late,” Baz says impatiently.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” I admit.

Baz rolls his eyes. “Right. Well, I’ll take care of it. Incidentally, I _am_ cancelling our dinner reservation. Eat before you get home.”

And then he’s gone, I’m hard, _and_ I still have to finish clearing up.

**BAZ**

I admit, after twenty years, I thought Simon Snow would stop surprising me.

Crowley, I’m glad he hasn’t.

**SIMON**

When I get home – after a day in which I did absolutely nothing useful – I find Baz has thrown up a **Stop in the name of love** just inside our front door. I can’t get through. (Although I’m feeling more and more interested each time I try.)

“ _Baz_?”

He doesn’t answer. 

I look around for some sort of hint as to what I should be doing and find a note in my boyfriend’s handwriting stuck to the back of the door with magic.

_I’m in the bedroom. The bathroom is free – you should use it._

The bathroom is upstairs, beyond the barrier spell, of course, but Baz’s magic is subtle enough that once I think about doing what he wants, it lets me through.

Inside the bathroom, I find a pair of lace-up shoes, socks, and a suit I don’t think I’ve ever seen before hanging on the back of the door. It’s dark red – Baz would probably call it ‘ _burgundy’_ – and the jacket is velvet. There’s a note stuck to it too, also with magic. It just says:

_Wear this._

There's another note inside the jacket, stuck to a silk pouch-thing Baz has hung around the top of the hanger. This one reads:

_And these. (I can buy myself presents, too, Simon.)_

Inside the pouch is something I think is a cock ring (I have to Google it because there are two rings and that just seems weird) and something that is definitely a butt plug. Both of them are new.

I pull my phone out of my jeans and text Baz, even though I’m not sure he’s going to answer given that he didn’t answer when I shouted earlier.

_\- Did you go to work at all today???_

He texts back almost immediately:

 _\- I did, in fact. But admittedly not for very long.  
_ _\- I couldn’t concentrate, so I said I was sick and went shopping._

I wasn’t hard before, but well. Baz never usually skips work. He’s dedicated. (And paranoid about getting caught.) So, the thought of him skiving off to buy sex toys for me is painfully hot. Almost as hot as the thought of him in the lingerie I got for _him_.

I’ve been trying not to think about it all day – Baz in stockings and a corset; Baz in sky-blue silk, _fuck_ – but I’ve realised that I don’t have to do that anymore. I’m allowed to think about it. Merlin, he’s probably wearing it right now, isn’t he.

And I’m trapped in the fucking bathroom.

I’m very tempted to try and break through his barrier spell again. I don’t. (Although mainly because I know it won’t work; Baz is too good at magic.)

Instead, I have the quickest shower I can, trying to keep my hair dry. Also, trying not to touch myself too much while making sure the water gets everywhere I want Baz to put his cock or his tongue. (Not easy.) Then I start hunting the lube.

I know Baz and I store some in here in case we want to have sex in the bath. (It doesn’t happen often. It’s hard to fit both of us in, even without my wings.) I also know he’d have planned for lube to be here, even if he could’ve just got it out for me and hasn’t because he’s a git. It’s here. I know it is. I’m only having trouble finding it because I’m distracted by my erection and the thought of my evil boyfriend waiting for me back in our bedroom.

Eventually, I do find it. Waterproof lubricant. Should work. I grease up the toy and push it into myself, imagining it’s Baz doing it. It’s not large, smaller than Baz’s cock (which I’m fairly used to taking by now) (not as often as he takes mine, admittedly, but the beard _has_ helped even things up) but it feels good to have something in me. I think about fucking myself a bit with it and imagining Baz, but I don’t want to come in the bathroom before I even get to see him. I do let myself clench around it a few times, though – not enough to get off on, just enough to feel a bit less mad with wanting him – before starting on the cock ring.

It’s stretchy, which is good. I don’t think I’d be able to put it on if it wasn’t.

I roll the first ring down over my cock – and then pull the other ring wide enough that I can slide it over one of my balls, then the other, like I saw on the internet. I must have done it right because there’s a hot flare of Baz’s magic and the whole thing tightens. And I yelp.

(Mostly from shock. It doesn’t hurt.) (I don’t think Baz would try and damage me right now. It’s not in his interest.) 

When I try and get the ring off, I can’t. Although I do at least feel like I probably won’t come in my trousers before I get to Baz, which I guess is a relief.

My phone pings with a text, probably from Baz. I wipe my hand on a towel and pick it up, even though I know it won’t do me any good.

It is from Baz:

_\- I heard you shouting. Are you dressed yet? I definitely am._

I whimper (he didn’t even send a picture) (Merlin, I need to get out of this bathroom) and write back:

 _\- Not really.  
_ _\- That was the fucking magic ring, if you didn’t guess._

I leave him to reply and go and pull the trousers on. (I notice Baz hasn’t provided me with any boxers, but that’s fine. I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.) There’s a hole for my tail, which means Baz must have had them specially altered. I think about leaving my flies open too, so my cock can stick out the front and my tail out the back. But I don’t think Baz would like that. Too crude. He’s got me a nice suit – he wants me to look respectable. So, grit my teeth and tuck myself away. Telling myself it’ll all be worth it once I get into the bedroom.

I check my phone again before starting on the shirt. Baz has written:

_\- I’m not even slightly sorry._

I bet he isn’t.

_\- I thought you might need some help._

I snort, about the put the phone down, when another message from Baz comes through.

_\- I’m going to assume you have the plug in by now._

I have enough time to think, _That sounds ominous,_ before it starts vibrating inside me.

“ _Fuck!_ ” I shout – loudly enough that I know Baz can hear me.

I hear him laugh. He must be right outside the door. I try the handle, but it’s locked. My tail is lashing.

“ _Baz_. Please.”

I’m whimpering and I know he can hear it.

This isn’t how I imagined this evening. (It’s much better.)

“Be a good boy and hurry up,” Baz’s voice says. “The door will unlock once you’re dressed.”

I growl and throw myself back into the mission.

Shirt, tie, jacket, socks, shoes – right, I can do this. (It’s easier when the toy stops buzzing.) My fingers tremble on the buttons, but I manage. I tuck the shirt tails into my trousers and loop the tie round my neck and knot it. I used to be shit at this at Watford, but ten years of dating Baz has taught me how to tie a decent Windsor knot, even under pressure. I put the socks on and the shoes. Then I run a hand through my curls and pull on the jacket.

This time, when I try the handle, the door opens.

Baz isn’t there anymore, but I’m guessing he’ll be in the bedroom, so that’s where I go.

The door’s open. He’s turned most of the lights down – there’s just a soft glow from the wall lamps – and cleared the clothes I left on the sofa away somewhere. The air is heavy with some sort of incense. It smells like smoke and Baz.

Baz himself isn’t here, though.

I clutch at my hair and turn – and see him, standing in the doorway. Leaning against it with his arms crossed. He raises an eyebrow.

Christ.

He’s shaved and his jawline is so sharp I feel like I’m going to cut myself when I try and kiss him. His hair hangs softly around his face. The corset I got him is tight around his broad chest and tightens even more at the waist. Then there’s a thong – which I knew wasn’t going to be big enough to cover all of his … assets, and really doesn’t leave much to the imagination. It’s tied with two bows at each side, so you can remove it without taking off the stockings.

And the stockings – _fuck._

I knew the stockings would be my favourite part, because they set off Baz’s strong, muscular thighs. It should be wrong – the mix of delicate stockings and footballer thighs (he hasn’t shaved his legs) – but honestly, it’s like he was born to wear them. Like Baz’s legs were just waiting for me to buy him a suspender belt.

He's wearing heels too – which I didn’t get him, but trust Baz to want to do the thing properly. They make his legs even longer, if that’s possible. I need them to be wrapped around my waist now. (Well, ten minutes ago, really.)

He planned this, I know it. He wanted this to be the moment I saw him.

Exactly like this.

And fuck me, there’s a lot of Baz to look at right now. All of it good.

I can see why he made me wear a cock ring now.

I want to make it last, too.

**BAZ**

On days like today, I like to think back to the lonely years I spent at Watford, convinced both that Simon Snow was incurably straight and that – even if he wasn’t – he’d never love me.

Right now, I have no idea why I ever worried.

Simon looks as though the bottom has dropped out of his brain. He keeps looking at my barely covered crotch, and then my thighs, and then back up to my face. The trousers I bought for him are tight enough that it would be impossible to hide his interest, even if he _wasn’t_ looking at me like that. And the bloody tail is still for once, which means he really isn’t thinking anything. He’s just paralysed with lust.

Good.

He made this happen, after all. He wanted it. (Of course, I definitely see the appeal, but I wouldn’t have suggested it.) He bought everything I’m wearing from Selfridges. That’s why the material feels so good everywhere it’s touching me, but it also means it cost him a small fortune. 

After all that, it would’ve been a shame if he found that, ultimately, he wasn’t interested. (And by a shame, I mean I would have killed him and then myself. A Valentine’s Day massacre.) (Fortunately, not that likely. Simon fancies me even when I’m not trying. When I’m slouching around the house in my largest jumper and his tracksuit bottoms. I’m not surprised that dressing up like this has made him regress back to a non-verbal state. Though it _is_ gratifying. And relieving, even if I didn’t need to be worried.)

“Do I meet expectations?” I ask archly.

I don’t actually expect him to be able to answer, and he doesn’t. He just nods, eyes wide.

“Do you want to see the back?”

“Yeah,” Simon says hoarsely.

I push myself away from the doorframe and give him a slow turn. So that he can how tightly I’m laced in with ribbon, and the large bow I made at the bottom of the corset with the ribbon I didn’t need. Given the size of the thong Simon got me (ridiculous), that bow is basically the only thing covering my arse right now – and it’s not doing much of that.

“Merlin,” Simon breathes as I turn back to face him. “ _Baz_.”

The way he says my name is so good, so full of exactly what I hoped he’d feel when he looked at me – lust, love, and helplessness in the face of both – that I can’t stay away from him any longer, even if I do want him to keep looking at me.

I cross the carpet towards him.

I’ve always been taller than him, but in these shoes, I positively tower over him. I have to dip my head to kiss him. That’s enough to shock him back to his senses. His hands tangle in my hair and draw me down further, before he gives up and settles for kissing my jawline. 

“What happened to the beard?”

“Obviously, I got rid of it.”

I thought about leaving it, since Simon likes it – but it wasn’t right for my first time in a corset. (Maybe next time.) And the good thing about being a vampire is that I don’t tan, so the skin underneath the beard is the same colour as the rest of my face, so I don’t look like an idiot when I shave.

“Don’t worry – I’m still planning on fucking you,” I tell Simon. “You’re not getting off, just because I shaved.”

“Good,” Simon says and hoists me up into his arms.

It’s not easy for him to do this. Unlike the other way around, which is almost embarrassingly simple, thanks to my supernatural strength, and has the advantage of bringing his lips level with mine. But the fact that it’s hard for Simon to lift me, and he still does it, is a large part of why I like it. (The rest is all about being crushed up against the love of my life with his hands all over me.) I can feel his whole body straining as he lifts me, and I tighten my legs around his waist.

Simon runs a hand along the line of one of my suspenders; the other hand firm against the boned silk at my back.

“Christ, you’re so gorgeous like this,” he says into my throat.

“You’re not bad yourself, love.”

This is a ridiculous understatement. Simon always cleans up well, particularly when he allows me to dress him. Most of the time, though, I don’t buy Simon things that are too “poncy.” (Simon might have accepted his sexuality, but he still dresses like a straight man – by which I mean, badly.) I try and buy him things he wouldn’t be embarrassed to wear, rather than the things I really want to see him in – and then rapidly tear off him.

But today, Simon gave me a silk thong, a corset, and some stockings, and asked me to wear them for him for Valentine’s Day. That means that today, I’ve dressed him how I want. All in red, like the devil. In soft velvet and sinfully tight trousers. (The only thing that could be better is that I know exactly what’s underneath. I can feel Simon’s hard, constrained cock nudging between my buttocks every time he shifts his weight.)

“But it’s not doing anything for you?” Simon asks anxiously.

“I promise you it is.”

Simon flushes slightly. “I can’t … feel anything, though. From you.” He means I’m not hard yet. “Do you need to go and feed before we have sex?”

He’s so noble. I’ve forced him to wear a plug _and_ a ring around his cock to make sure he won’t lose his erection. If I really hadn’t fed (I did, a few hours ago), he’d have to wait like that for at least fifteen minutes for me to drain something, then wait for me to brush my teeth. (He’d do it too.)

But, actually, I’ve screwed him over in a completely different way that doesn’t require me to drink anyone’s blood.

“I’m still recovering.”

Simon frowns. “What?”

“I’ve masturbated several times today. Most recently, just before you got home.”

“You _dick_ ,” Simon says, dumping me back onto my stilettos.

“You went to work,” I remind him. “After putting terrible, arousing images in my head. What was I supposed to do?”

“I’m wearing a cock ring!”

He means that I could be (I did consider it), but I choose to misinterpret him. I press my hand against the hard bulge in his trousers. Simon sucks in air through his teeth.

“Yes, you are,” I tell him. “Don’t be angry. I thought about you every time.”

“How many times?”

“Three.”

“Fuck,” Simon mutters. A thought strikes him. “Were you wearing the corset?”

I grin. (I was, the last time. It was easier to imagine him watching me in it.) “Possibly.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Simon groans, clutching his hair. “Baz.”

This time my name sounds different. More like the way he says it when I change the channel while he’s watching something than the way he talks to me in bed sometimes.

“You’re not actually annoyed?” I ask him.

I thought he wouldn’t be – that he might get off on my selfish neediness; or just get off on the thought of me touching myself, dressed like this – but even after years together, I still get it wrong sometimes. I push him a bit too far.

Fortunately, I think I got it right today.

“I’m furious,” Simon says. Which means he isn’t. “Are you even going to be able to get it up again?”

“I’m not sure. But we should probably find out.”

I move round him and throw myself onto the sofa Simon generally uses as a second wardrobe. It happens to be where I’ve hidden the remote to the toy inside him, but Simon doesn’t need to know that right now. It’s enough that the rusty colour of it makes my skin warmer and sets off the pale-blue of the lingerie.

I lean back and spread my legs. Run my hand along the top of my stockinged things and down over my silk-clad cock.

Simon’s eyes follow my progress. He’s probably getting a good look at my bollocks, since they don’t exactly fit inside this thong. (If I’m honest, _none_ of me really fits inside the thong. But I think that’s probably the point.)

“Simon? You can do more than watch.”

He’s biting his lip, tail lashing – clearly very into what I’m doing to myself, but unwilling (or possibly, unable) to move. I notice a damp spot on the front of his burgundy trousers – he must be getting desperate – and spread my legs even wider for him.

“Forgive me?”

“I shouldn’t.”

But he staggers towards me, anyway, dropping to his knees between my thighs. Like he can’t help himself. I smile at him.

“Thank you,” I tell him as he presses his face into the place where my stocking ends and whimpers softy. His hands are stroking my calves through the gauzy fabric.

“You’re lucky you’re so pretty,” he says, pretending to grumble. “And that I like being good to you.”

“I know I am.”

I do. I’m so lucky.

I thought I was going to spend tonight watching television or making polite conversation surrounded by heterosexual couples. Don’t get me wrong, I would have enjoyed that too – any time spent with Simon is a delight, although increasingly perhaps an everyday one.

But instead, this beautiful man wanted to seduce me. He allowed me to dress him up, fill him full of sex toys, and is now nuzzling sweetly at my thigh, even though I’m still a complete wanker. (Literally, in this case.)

At least I plan to be nice to him later, I suppose. Simon _will_ reap his reward – but first he has to get me ready to be nice to him. Get me hard. And wet. And just as desperate as he is.

Really, I doubt it will be that difficult – it’s been long enough and he’s so lovely.

I also doubt that Simon truly objects.

Or objects at all, actually. He might even be enjoying this more than me.

Right now, he’s running his face along my thigh and growling. “God, you smell so fucking good, Baz. You _feel_ so good.”

I let my head fall back against the sofa as his nose hits my crotch and he starts to lick me through the silk. (It’s disgusting – I’ll have to dry clean it later.) (I grip his hair and hold him down to make sure he doesn’t stop.)

“That’s right, Simon. You can do it. Good boy.”

I feel his hands leave my calves (the tail still has a death-grip around my thigh, though) and come up to the silk bows at my hips. He looks up at me, licking moisture off his lips.

“Can I take these off?”

I nod. “Please.”

I tied the pants up tightly, though (so he’d struggle, and just so the fucking thing would stay on) and Simon’s fingers are trembling. He’s only managed to undo one side when I activate the remote.

Simon’s head drops. “Christ.”

A human wouldn’t be able to hear the toy inside him buzzing (it’s supposed to be silent), particularly not over the sound of Simon’s laboured breathing, but I can. I hear the noise change in frequency as I change the setting, making it buzz faster.

Simon pulls a hand away from me to press against his own crotch. He’s groaning; I can feel the sound in my cock.

“Baz. Stop. I’m going to come.”

“You’re not,” I assure him, although I do stop it. (He asked – that’s important.) “Your orgasm is tied to mine.”

“What?”

Simon’s looking up at me blearily, still clutching the hardness in his trousers even now the vibrator is off.

I’d like to touch him there. He’s too far away, though. (Really, the only bad thing about this position – Simon between my legs as I pretend to lord it over him – is that I can’t touch him. Nothing turns me on faster than being able to touch Simon, but at least the vibrator is under my control.)

“Is that even a spell?” he asks.

“Obviously.”

A tricky bit of Lennon and McCartney magic, but I’ve been wanting to try it for a while. More interesting than the simple endurance spell Simon clearly imagined I cast on the cock ring. And appropriate for Valentine’s Day – I’m sure even Simon can appreciate that.

“So now I _have_ to get you off?” he demands.

I give him my best pout. “It’s romantic; not a burden, Simon.”

“It would be if you hadn’t fucked yourself three times already.”

He’s just flirting now.

I want to tell him I love him – I love how he always rises to meet me, how he’s never let me down – but I’ll save that for our shared orgasm. Simon knows anyway. I’ve told him before.

I stroke his cheek, instead. “The point is – you won’t come until I do. And I’m afraid I’m not even close yet.”

Though I _am_ hard, now – and getting harder at every frustrated sound Simon makes. I want him to touch me again. (I want to touch _him_ somewhere other than his hair).

I tilt his chin up and raise my eyebrow.

“Remember, love, it’s in your interest to be nice to me.”

There’s a glint in his eyes – the Simon Snow fighting spirit. “Yeah?”

I feel my cock twitch, just at that, and then he launches himself up. Crashing his lips into mine. His hands slide up the front of the corset and he presses me back into the sofa, the velvet of his jacket soft against my exposed skin.

I let myself clutch at him as he kisses me, his hands roaming over all the parts of me he can reach. Then he drops his head to lick my neck.

“How’s this, then?”

Shuddering, I tilt my head back to give him better access.

“It’s tolerable.”

He bites me and my hips surge up into his.

“You’re such a liar,” Simon says, laughing.

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

I tilt my head up so he can kiss me. “Good.”

“I want to make love to you,” Simon growls into my mouth. “Now.”

“Patience.”

“Look who’s talking.”

He’s working again at the final tie of my pants – and making a better job of it this time. Meanwhile I’m trying to unzip his flies so I can get my hands on him. That might be what Simon’s taking about. Or it might be another dig at me spending the day wanking because I couldn’t wait for him to get home. (Either way he’s got a point and I don’t give a shit about it.)

Anyway, we both accomplish our goals at approximately the same time. I push my hand inside Simon’s trousers just as he gives the the damp silk thong a strong tug. It slides out from under me, caressing my balls on the way out. It makes me hiss and buck into Simon, who grins, throwing the silk behind him.

“Better.”

“You gave it to me,” I remind him.

“Yeah. I did,” Simon says. “Good decision, but still.”

He kisses me again.

“Are you ready to take me to bed now, darling?” he asks. “Please.”

His breath is hot on my face; left hand on my thigh, right wrapped around my fourth erection of the day.

I’ve had three orgasms already today – all of them good – and my body should be exhausted, but it knows this is the real deal; that all those other times were just sad imaginings compared to Simon Snow in my lap, playing with the top of my stockings while he strokes me.

I wouldn’t mind coming like this, in Simon’s hand, over his suit. But it’s Valentine’s Day – we can do better than that.

I pull him into my arms as I stand. The heels make it difficult to get my balance at first, but the supernatural grace helps even things out. Simon makes an alarmed noise, but doesn’t fight it, because I’m doing what he wants. And I don’t need to carry him far. Just over the bed.

I throw him down onto it, and let him lie there, panting for a moment. His trousers open and his hard cock on display, his eyes fixed on _mine_ – my cock that is. Which is framed by the suspenders and probably looks even more delicious than usual.

Simon certainly seems to think so. I can sense all the rest of his blood trying desperately to get into his already dark-red erection. 

I fight my fangs back down and grin at him.

“Ready.”

And then I throw myself at him.

**SIMON**

Baz is so fucking strong. It’s a thing I know about my boyfriend after almost twenty years of living together (not always as boyfriends, obviously) but I tend to forget it when we’re just watching telly or holding hands on the way to the tube.

Then he’ll do something like pick me up and throw me onto our bed like I weigh nothing and it’s hard not to think about it. And how stupidly sexy it is.

My heart’s pounding – so’s my cock. I know Baz’ll be able to smell that, or hear it, or something, but I don’t mind. He knows I fancy him.

Baz gives me a moment to look at him again (he was gorgeous _with_ the pants on, but I think we both know the view’s even better without them) before he jumps me.

I groan into his mouth as he kisses me roughly – and then again when he backs off. Sliding back down my body.

“Baz?”

“I’m going to something very bad to this suit,” he tells me.

“Hm?” I say stupidly – and then Baz rips my fucking shirt open with his super vampire strength.

“Fuck,” I gasp. And then I whine it – “ _Fuck_ , Baz” – as he licks me in one long, wet line from my belly button up to my throat.

He’s smiling, pleased with himself, as he gets to my lips. “Was that sexy?”

“Baz. Everything you’re doing right now is sexy.”

“Good to know.”

He lets me kiss him for a moment and stroke the line of his corset with my hands. Then pulls away again.

“Going to do the trousers too?” I ask.

“Not if you can take them off fast enough.”

I don’t care about the trousers, really, but I’m guessing Baz would have destroyed them if he wanted them destroyed, so I toe my shoes off and he raises his hips so I can raise mine and start to slide the trousers off.

I might’ve been able to do it, too, if he hadn’t thought this was a perfect time to switch the vibrator back on.

I see him reaching for the remote before he gets there though. He’s faster than me normally, but I guess he must not mind, because I manage to get to it before him. Then I chuck it off the side of the bed before he can use it.

“No. No more,” I tell him as sternly as I can. “Just fuck me.”

“So desperate,” Baz purrs.

“Yes,” I agree. “ _You_ would be, if you could see you.”

He looks better than ever, now. The lingerie made him look pure, almost untouched, even as it was kinky as fuck because he’s a man. Now, though, I’ve messed up his hair and bruised his mouth a bit. Also, he’s got a massive, wet hard-on poking up above the hem of the pretty blue corset.

It’s the contrast of Baz that still make me weakest, I think. The ways he can be kind even as he’s rude. Tender, even as he’s ruthless. All his hard angles tempered by soft sweeps of hair and soft silks.

I want him so much.

“Baz, please—”

“You should see yourself,” Baz says. He smooths a hand up my chest. “You look utterly debauched.”

I can imagine it. My trousers round my knees, my cock straining against Baz’s spell and the ring, and my shirt all ripped open. I swallow, as showily as I can.

“Is this what you wanted for Valentine’s Day?”

“I _wanted_ an iPad case,” Baz says. “Which I still haven’t got.”

“I can get it for you.”

It’s a joke, but Baz still bares his teeth.

“You will not.”

“You’re sure?”

He kisses me again, forcefully enough that I wouldn’t be able to get up even if I wanted to, and the two of us try and wrestle my trousers the rest of the way down. Baz is probably regretting how tight they are now, but if he is, he doesn’t say anything. Just keeps biting at my lip every time the trousers catch on my knees or my tail, and kissing me harder.

Once the trousers are gone, Baz feels around between my legs for the plug and tugs it out. I was ready for it, but I still gasp. My hands try and fist in his clothing, but the only thing to hang onto is the lacing and it’s not where I’m grabbing so my hands just slide off. That’s fine, though, because Baz doesn’t want to be held down – he’s moving lower.

“Do you need the lube?” I ask him, even though I hate myself for asking, because I do not want to have to find the stuff we keep in here. But he shakes his head.

“No, I have magic.”

He’s also got his wand tucked down the front of his corset, which for some reason I didn’t expect, even though I should have. Baz is always practical.

“Leave the jacket on,” he says when I start trying to get out of it.

“Right.”

He casts a quick lubrication spell on his free hand and tucks his wand away again. I watch him coat his cock, and then I shut my eyes as he pushes two fingers from the same hand into my arse. (It’s more foreplay, which I’m definitely over, but I guess I can live with it. At least Baz is touching me this time.)

Then I remember that if I have my eyes shut, I can’t look at Baz when he’s dressed like this, so I open them again. I’m just in time to see him reach out with his other hand to delicately trace the tight rubber ring around my cock.

He sees me watching and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Have I told you how much I like you wearing this?”

“You haven’t,” I tell him. “And you really should, since it’s killing me.”

“Oh dear, _poor_ Simon,” Baz smirks. “Brought to the peak of sexual ecstasy by his cruel boyfriend.”

“Fuck off,” I whimper. “You know you’re dragging it out.”

“I thought you liked that.”

“Yeah, but _now_ ,” I say, “I want your cock up my arse. I want to come all over you.”

Baz’s fingers spasm inside me. He likes it when I’m crude. When I’m gagging for him.

“You make a compelling point, Simon.”

“Yeah,” I say as he drags his fingers out. “I know. Thank you.”

I grab a pillow from behind me and shove it under myself – just below the tail – while Baz wipes his hand. Then pull my knees up to my chest.

“On your back?” Baz asks, surprised.

I nod. “I want to look at you.”

I almost always want to look at Baz when he takes me – not that there isn’t something exciting about having him press me down into things too – but we’ve been having more sex on all fours, recently. (It’s easier since my back started hurting from my shit posture at work.) 

But I didn’t spend a stupid amount of (admittedly not-real) money on lingerie just to have my face in a pillow while my beautiful boyfriend fucks me while wearing it. I’m not that old.

“Do I take it you like me like this?” Baz says archly as he lines his cock up with my hole. “Dressed up for you?” 

“God, yes,” I tell him.

And then I lose the power of speech for a bit, because Baz is pushing into me, his fingers digging into the thick velvet of the jacket. Leaning over me as he forces his erection deep into my body. Stretching me and filling me up with himself, while the hard silk front of his corset presses down on my sensitive cock.

I let my head drop as he pulls back and pushes into me again, as he begins to find a rhythm.

“Yes,” I tell him as I rock back into him. “That’s it, darling.”

Baz smiles down at me. “Your horrible boyfriend’s being nice to you at last?”

“So nice.”

I can’t tell if it’s because Baz has kept me on the brink for so long, or just because I really fancy Baz in this corset, but somehow, it’s better than normal. He’s lighting me up from the inside. I’m babbling.

“It’s so good, Baz. You’re so good.”

“I like you like this, too,” Baz tells me, breathlessly. “I’m glad we didn’t go to the restaurant.”

I laugh – as much as I can, which isn’t much – and angle my hips up, so he can get deeper. He tugs one of my legs over his waist and I bring the other one up too. It’s a good move. He’s getting me right where I want him to, now. I’m gasping with every thrust.

“And I _know_ you like that,” Baz growls, sounding satisfied, even though he knows he can’t bring me to orgasm like that. I whimper my agreement.

Without my weight holding it down, my tail slips free and forces itself down the front of Baz’s corset. I can feel it rubbing against his nipple, and the next thrust he gives me is particularly ragged as a result.

“Crowley, Simon.”

I’d apologise, but I’m long past that. Past speech. Remorse. I’m pretty sure I’d have already come by now – reached the peak ages ago – but Baz is just bringing me back there, letting me drop and bringing me back there again. I can’t think. My head’s full of incense and pleasure. I’m sweating right through this shirt, but Baz has ruined it anyway, so it probably doesn’t matter. All I have to do is lie here panting and look at Baz while he shags my brains out.

He’s still got the heels on, though they’re slipping off his ankles as he braces himself on the bed. His strong thighs are flexing in the stockings with every thrust.

“Fuck, Simon, I’m so close,” Baz groans, which is good. It has to be.

The bow at the bottom of the corset is bouncing against his arse each time he thrusts into me. I push myself to move – to fist my hand in it, yanking the corset tighter.

Baz grunts and drops his head.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers. His hips shudder. “Fuck. Simon, I love you—”

The tips of his hair brush my face. I lean up – to try and kiss him. But I can’t keep my head up and anyway Baz is coming, which means I’m coming, and neither of us can really concentrate on anything else.

It’s overwhelming. Baz’s hips spasm into mine as he spills into me. I shudder around him. My spunk splatters onto my bare stomach and probably smears all over Baz. He doesn’t mind. He tells me he loves me again, pressing kisses against my collar bone as I pant through it. And then it’s over.

He pulls himself out of me with a soft groan. I tug my tail out of his corset and he flops down next to me. (Baz is always at his least graceful after sex.) He’s breathing heavily.

“Crowley. We haven’t had sex like that for a while.”

“I know.”

He kicks his heels off and starts unclipping the stockings while I turn my attention to the cock ring. It’s not easy to get off. Now I’m not hard anymore, there’s more space, but I’m still sensitive. I hiss and Baz leans over, concerned.

“Let me. I’ll be gentle.”

I roll my eyes, but let him do it.

He _is_ gentle. So gentle I have to tug him down into me to kiss him once he’s done, because I love him so much. His mouth is soft and wet and yielding. When he laughs (because he feels me trying to untie the ribbons at his back), I feel it through my lips and in my heart.

“I think I have to get out of it with magic, Simon.”

“Pft. I think you’re just lazy.”

“Well, I _am_ exhausted. I can’t say I relish fighting with this contraption for the next half an hour.”

I let him go. He spells himself out of the corset with **Free at last** , a spell I once used to get Penny and me out of a haunted mineshaft. It’s funny to hear it used now for something so different.

Good, though. I don’t regret my life being quieter now.

Which reminds me.

I lean over the side of the bed and pull out another Selfridges bag before throwing it at Baz. He catches it.

“Now, what could this be I wonder?” he says drolly.

I roll my eyes. Obviously, it’s the iPad case he wanted. It has leopards on it. (Baz picked it out online weeks ago, and then sent me into town to buy it for him. I wouldn’t have chosen it.) He smiles when he sees it.

“Thanks, love.” He drops a kiss to my mouth and lowers his voice. “Can’t wait to see what you’ve got for my birthday.”

He asked for a weighted blanket and clearly, I’ve already bought it for him, since his birthday’s less than two weeks away, and I don’t trust the post. Baz even signed for it the other day, so it’s not a secret.

I doubt that’s what he’s talking about, though. (Although he does like being warm.)

“I think you’ll be surprised,” I tell him.

Baz’s eyes light up and he swallows. “Right, well. I’ll take the day off work, then.”

“Me too.”

“Good.”

He disappears into the bathroom and I lie back on the bed, trying not to get too excited at any of the ideas Baz has just put in my head.

He looked stunning in that corset.

I bet he’d look even better in a collar.

**Author's Note:**

> I am definitely not writing a sequel for this for Baz's birthday - but feel free to, if you'd like. 
> 
> The spell Baz uses is - of course - 'Come together'. I'd be very happy to see this in other people's fics.
> 
> \--
> 
> I posted two fics today. The other one is: [No Holding Back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29427465) (TW: DubCon.)
> 
> After this flurry of activity, I'll be silent for a while, but I'm all right! I'm just participating in [Anon Fest](https://carryon-anon-fest.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> I'm on Tumblr: [@captain-aralias](http://captain-aralias.tumblr.com/)


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